


Christmas Pisses

by Anonymous



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Christmas, Costumes, Embarrassment, Omorashi, Poor England (Hetalia), Wetting, things that should never have been written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 14:31:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18317174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: England has a wet disaster at the Christmas party. Omorashi.





	Christmas Pisses

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously it's not Christmas, but I've deleted my old omo blog and needed to move the one story I actually had on it. It's a few years old so excuse...everything about it.
> 
> Not sure why I'm anon-ing this seen as I have considerably worse on my main page but I guess I'm not in the mood for too much self-induced cringe tonight.

England hissed and grasped at his crotch, face flushed bright red as he manoeuvred his way through the crowd.

 

Most of the nations let him by without a second glance, assuming his red face and uncomfortable body language were due to the embarrassment of being forced into a reindeer costume. They had already had their laugh when he had first shown up, glowering at them all past the red ball attached to his nose. Now they were more focused on drinking and socialising.

 

England _had_ been embarrassed, yes. He was dressed up as Rudolph the fucking Red-Nose Reindeer, complete with antlers and a collar. Of course he had been fucking embarrassed. He had been so embarrassed that he had attempted to rip the costume off. America had prevented it.

 

“Dude! Stop! Do you know how long it took me to convince Finland to take this job from him? And what's a Santa without a Rudolph? You have to keep it on or the party will be ruined!”

 

England had not been convinced. “You can play Santa perfectly well without dressing me up in such a demeaning outfit” he had chided, and immediately began struggling with America to pull the costume off. He would not be caught dead in a god damn reindeer onesie.

 

*Click* England had stopped dead, looking behind him to a sheepish America.

 

“Sorry, had no choice,” America had shrugged as England groped behind his neck. The collar had been attached to the zipper of the onesie with a small padlock. By the time England had realised this, America had disappeared, obviously not keen on a broken nose.

 

Deciding that he would kill the bastard later, England had marched angrily into the party, hoping to drink himself too stupid to remember what he was wearing. The beer had seemed like a good idea at the time, but England hadn't even gotten himself tipsy before he realised that there was a more pressing issue than the embarrassing costume.

 

It had been quite a while before being forced into the costume that England had last...relieved himself. He hadn't needed at the time, however, so he hadn't even thought about it. Now, he needed quite badly, and it was when first heading to the bathroom that he realised he had no way to go.

 

The next 25 minutes had been spent frantically searching around America's ridiculously oversized mansion for the brat who quite literally held the key to his release. The pressure had been gradually building with every step, and it was at the point when he wasn't sure he could hold for a single moment longer, the first dribbles of urine already wetting his underwear, that he finally spotted America.

 

Rushing the rest of the way, England all but pounced on America, who was chatting to Canada in an empty corridor. Both the younger nations seemed stunned.

 

“America! You have to unlock this costume _right now!”_ England hissed desperately.

 

“Eh? America! You locked him in the costume?” Canada frowned disapprovingly as America laughed.

 

“No way England! I told you, I need a Rudolph. The outfit is staying on. There's nothing to be embarrassed about, no-one's even looking at you anymore,”

 

“No America. You don't understand, you have to let me out _now._ Please. I'll put it back on, I promise,” England was far too desperate to be above begging, “But I need to...go...” England whimpered as a little more urine dribbled out, forcing his hands to his crotch and doubling over. America's eyes widened in realisation as England looked up to him, teary eyed.

 

“Oh...you have to...oh, oh shit. Okay the key is in my room. Wait here, I'll be as quick as I can,” and America rushed off, leaving England wriggling with Canada.

 

“Ah, the idiot,” Canada seemed annoyed as he rubbed England's shoulder comfortingly, “It'll be okay England, he'll be back in a second,”

 

“I-it won't, I don't think I can – ah -” England whimpered again as a little more trickled out of him. The meagre amount released did nothing to help the pain nor the pressure, however, and only seemed to increase his desperation. Canada gave his shoulder a squeeze.

 

“It's okay, he's coming now,”

 

“N-no, shit, I can't hold it,”

 

The alcohol he had consumed probably wasn't helping his will, and with a huge gasp, England released, collapsing onto his knees. The stream seemed never ending – and England didn't really want it to end, because as long as he was peeing, he was in a high enough state of ecstasy to not really register what was happening.

 

All good things end, however, and as the last of the urine trickled out of him, England gave a sob, looking down at the soaked carpet around him. Canada, who was crouched with England, was glaring at America. England himself was far too humiliated to meet anyone's eyes. He had wet himself like a child in front of two of the nations he had raised. Not like he hadn't done it before, apparently, but those were occasions he had been far, far too drunk to remember. Now, he was practically sober, and had no excuse, nor a hope of forgetting.

 

“Whoops,” America shrugged sheepishly from across the hall, “never mind. Don't be sad England, I have a spare costume, so you still get to be my Rudolph tonight!”

 

England finally looked up, ready to shout at America. Before he had the chance, he felt the antler headband swiftly removed from his head, flung at America's face with impressive accuracy by a pissed off Canadian.

 

End.

 

 


End file.
